This I regret

I guess it's too late to live on a boat,
to discuss the advantages,
or think of the possibilities.

Had we left when it was first an idea,
when we started to understand maps,
when there was a North.

Had we left behind our fears,
been taught detachment,
learned the seas from pirates

in our childhood books.

(Written for napowrimo.net early-bird prompt)

NaPoWriMo - 2015

It's almost April again and this is my public commitment to 30/30.

I'll be selecting favorite prompts of the day to write from the following websites offering prompts throughout the month of April, which means I'll be writing more than a poem a day!

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
Writer's Digest PAD Challenge
Napowrimo.net
A to Z challenge
30 Day Poetry Challenge
The dirty thirty
Writers Victoria
Apparatus Magazine
Cuyahoga County Public Library

"Let the wild rumpus start!"

Won't haves

I want the world to be whole again.
I want things to be found on their
original places, glued to the ground
thanks to gravity, floating bodies
to be left for the outer space.

I want to raise a child to made-up
music and stories, to cloud watching
and sugar apple because life can turn
bitter, sweet memories aren't that
widespread these days.

I want January back, your invisible
hand on my chest, your laughter,
your heart, some rain. I want to
carry you home, and ease all of your
pain. I want to ease all the pain.

Resignation

For years to come I would wish
I could have done something
other than sit and watch
everything precious to me die.
Then again I am reminded
this is how all living things end.

A cartography of the blank and oblivious states

The man I love will

most certainly one day

fit in his doodles with my tattoos

write promises on my thighs

and poems on my back 

and songs on my belly.

He will recite the poems

and shout the promises

and sing the songs 

when I start to forget 

this is how he will be able

to bring me back

this is how he will be able
to bring me back. 

Sunday ends

I lie in bed in savasana
for not everyone can be a starfish.

The untrained circus monkey mind
swings from one thought to the next.

Timing

"The sky in March is
as beautiful as I remember
it by your side
and I love you"

- he says.

And he means it.
The way I did once,
watching him disappear behind clouds,
my heart bleeding off altitude.

Kensi 'n' Tom - Peace then pieces

Listen to the full EP by clicking here. 

:: Thirty-three and one third - TB

33 1/3 revolutions per minute,
In his home,
Listening to, thinking about
Dylan’s Revolution in the air.

70 heartbeats per minute,
Rising to 100,
Reading through, thinking about
Injustice, violence and suffering.

10 blinks per minute,
71 by the President,
Informing and then telling
Everything is going be OK.

4000 steps per day,
Rising to 10,000
Walking over, then resting on
Old ground.

:: War footage - KC

It's beyond late

when in a dream

I get war footage of

your neighborhood's

exploding buildings and

smoky streets,

I am mad at you already

for not keeping your promise.

All of a sudden

you come into the picture

dressed in your

stepmotherland's colors,

trying to make your way

through the crowd.

A tall man blocks your

passage, whispers

something in your ear

and kisses your cheeks

before you disappear.

In the e-mail you say

you've been thinking about

leaving the city and that, maybe,

we should consider working

for the Ringling Brothers,

now they are ending their

elephant acts.

You could be a fire eater,

I could be a lion tamer,

or we could both be

smartly funny clowns.

I wake up crying

for it's beyond late.

Anticipation

Coming home after work
I anticipate you for 12 miles,
twenty-eight traffic lights.

The miracle of love
is that of
everyday things,

of breathing things
like open windows
and turned pages,

of things that move
with the wind and change
at the pace of clouds.

The day before I discover I wasted a wish

Coming from somewhere
between desperation and rage
a man with a gun
jumped in front of me this week,
he wanted my cellphone.
I couldn't hear him at first,
I was only halfway through a song
that says everything I would
tell you in my vows.
Had I gotten hurt,
you would have been
the last dream of my heart,
the last wish of my soul.

Jöjjön

Come on a Sunday

to challenge the house noises

and hide me in your chest,

let's read each other's eyes, 

let's waltz in our private silence.

Calm down the death of roads

that can only lead to 

burning desires,

spell togetherness in 

imaginary languages.

Prepare me for uncertainty,

for the prevalence

of the ephemeral,

for letting go of

the memories we are making,

of the taste of existing around you
that will linger in my mouth

if we ever part.

Treasures

Growing up I had a
jewelry box where
I kept a collection of
stones instead of pearls.
I can only begin to explain
why I save your sounds.

Constraints

Your discomfort with my words
imposes me a pattern:

I must not speak of love
I must not say your name
I must not tell my wishes
all in the same poem.

This has to be the
most hurtful of constraints.

(about constrained writing)